


In the Cell

by Aria_Lerendeair



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Series Three, Spoilers, That got you both so rumpled?, What happened in that cell hm?, season three, spoilers for The Sign of Three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Lerendeair/pseuds/Aria_Lerendeair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After they are locked in the cell, some drunken fumbling happens, and it’s all Sherlock’s fault.  After all, French is sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Cell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyLittleCornerOfSherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/gifts), [Fightyourdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fightyourdragon/gifts).



> Welp. This was the request of MyLittleCornerofSherlock, and was originally prompted by FightYourDragon. This is for you guys.

  
  
  
“You can’t arrest me, I’m Sherlock, the man who…”  Sherlock stumbled and leaned against the wall, blinking hard at the guard.  When had three more of them appeared?  He only remembered one of them walking him to his cell.  When did the other two appear?  Were they ghosts?  He squinted.  Unlikely.  Terrible dental hygiene.  No ghost would be so neglectful.    
  
  
“Funny hat!”    
  
  
“Yes, Sherlock, the man who wears a funny hat!”  He leaned against the wall.  Sherlock snorted.  He did wear a funny hat.  A very funny hat.  John liked the funny hat.  John!  He spun and collapsed to the floor in a heap and stared at John.  “John, someone dated a ghost.”    
  
  
John blinked and squinted at Sherlock.  “You...you compromised the evidence.”  He frowned, staring at Sherlock.  “You were sick.  Lay down.”  He hiccuped and closed his eyes.  “Rinse your mouth out.”    
  
  
Sherlock stared down at his legs.  They were very long.  And did not want to listen to him.  This was potentially problematic.  He giggled.  Alliteration.  He turned.  A sink.  He reached for the edge and caught it.  Porcelain.  Cold.  Slippery thing.  Sherlock tugged himself up and fumbled with the knob, releasing a flow of water.    
  
  
Rinse mouth.  Disgusting.  Why was he drunk?  Idiot.  He grinned.  John’s idiot.  Four mouthfuls later his mouth tasted relatively normal.  “John, my mouth’s...not...contaminated.”    
  
  
John snorted and fished out the packet of breath mints from his pocket.  He threw them on the bed.  “Have one of those.  Lay down.”  He chuckled when Sherlock flopped down, half on, half off the bed.  
  
  
Sherlock picked up the packet and frowned at it.  The words swam, shifting and changing.  “Whaaaat’s this?”    
  
  
“Breath mint.  You’ll thank me in the morning.”  John scooted closer to the bed and pushed at Sherlock’s leg.  “Up.”    
  
  
“Ah.  Souffle menthe.  Pourquoi avez-vous apporter menthe John?  Qui alliez-vous à un baiser?”  (Breath mints.  Why did you bring breath mints John?  Who were you going to be kissing?)  Sherlock giggled again.  Mary wouldn’t be happy with John’s kissing.    
  
  
John blinked at Sherlock.  That was.  Not English.  He was pretty sure.  “Un...baiser?”    
  
  
“Oui!”  Sherlock gave John a grin.  “Come here, John!”  He flopped back on the bed and reached out, his fingers tangling in John’s hair.  “Venez ici!” (Come here!)  
  
  
John grumbled and followed the tugging of Sherlock’s fingers.  He blinked sleepily and climbed on top of the detective, staring down at Sherlock.  He grinned.  “’s not English.”    
  
  
“Un baiser.” (A kiss.)  Sherlock tugged on John’s hair again, until they were closer.  He could smell something on John’s breath.  Beer.  Lots.  “Embrassez-moi.” (Kiss me.)    
  
  
This was a bad idea.  Bad idea because...because, there was a reason this was a bad idea.  He should be able to remember why this was a bad idea.    
  
  
“John.”  Sherlock tugged harder and frowned.  “Embrassez-moi.  Un baiser.”  (Kiss me.  A kiss.)  
  
  
French was pretty.  It was...it was pretty and smooth.  Especially in Sherlock’s voice.  Dangerous.  John groaned and leaned down, kissing Sherlock, pressing him into the bed.  It was sloppy, and messy, and Sherlock was pulling his hair too hard.  It was perfect.    
  
  
“John.  Plus. S'il vous plaît. Plus, John. J'ai besoin de vous.” (More.  Please.  More, John.  I need you.) Sherlock pulled John closer, mumbling against his lips.  He needed it.  Needed more.  He tugged impatiently at John’s shirt, giving up.  His fingers were not listening.    
  
  
John groaned and pressed closer to Sherlock, kissing down his jaw, his other hand tugging that infernally tight shirt out of his pants.  He pressed his hand to Sherlock’s side, bare skin, and licked at the base of his neck.  Delicious.    
  
  
“John…”  Sherlock mumbled, his eyes drifting closed.  A loud snore escaped him moments later.    
  
  
He looked up at Sherlock and huffed out a laugh.  Sherlock snored.  Of course he snored.  John pulled his hand away and climbed off of the bed, sinking to the floor beside the bed.  Bloody hell.  His lips tingled.    
  
  
He let his head fall back against the wall.  At least he knew that Sherlock couldn’t hold his liquor.  John chuckled.  At all.  Completely hopeless.  

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hate it? Love it? Did I have someone remove their shirt twice? Let me know!
> 
> Comments and Criticisms welcome!
> 
> You can find me here: http://aria-lerendeair.tumblr.com/
> 
> You can also watch me write fics like this (and dozens of others) live! Follow me on Livestream for fics, shenanigans and a general all-around awesome time! http://new.livestream.com/accounts/7212317


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